


Into The Dark

by Notsociallove



Category: Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notsociallove/pseuds/Notsociallove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So sad, but I guess that's just the way I am. Can't help but to change plans at last second, can I? No, of course not. This way is just so much more fun and, not the forget, a little more sexy if I do say so myself," Moriarty snickered and then sighed, his fingers dancing over the red button, "but my-my, I am so disappointed in you, Sherlock, and your little pet here, of course. I really wasn't sure you'd believe that story about your mother and the need for you to get on a plane, emotion is a weakness..and now it's your downfall. A silly thing, don't you think?"</p>
<p>Sherlock's eyes moved around the locked medpod, searching for a way out, looking for any kind of hint that they weren't about to be ejected from the plane and sent down, down into the water below to die, but even John could tell they had met their end. </p>
<p>Moriarty's eyes turned dark, "So long, Sherlock Holmes." His dancing fingers stopped and applied the slightest bit of pressure. </p>
<p>The force of the ejection threw both of them back against the wall behind them, sending boxes of medical supplies flying and knocking both of them unconscious as they sunk deeper and deeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> {{This story is slightly based of AoS in the beginning}}

By god his head hurt, it felt like someone had rammed a crowbar to the back of it. The ground was cold and hard, but his head felt like it was laying on a pillow. He knew he had to open his eyes and move, but he didn't want to face the world outside of his head. Dying was inevitable in their sunken hole and, unsurprisingly, he was going to die with the one and only Sherlock Holmes. Somehow, he knew it'd end up this way. Moriarty was a mastermind, just like Sherlock, but he used his mind for the worst and all they could do was damage control it seemed. 

"I know you're conscious, John."

The man's voice broke through the easy haze; he always knew when he was awake it seemed. They would be at their flat and, even rooms apart, if he would just try to stay in bed, Sherlock would call him out from the living room where he'd already be set up with his steepled fingertips, staring into a place John couldn't enter. 

"Come on now, I've broken my radius and can't manage it on my own." 

John groaned and was immediately grateful that they were at least in a medpod. Peeling his eyes open to the dim emergency lights, he immediately regretted it. Mild concussion probably. The pillow he has thought of earlier turned out to be Sherlock's lap and he was indefinitely unsure of how he arrived there. Pushing himself into a sitting position slowly, he had to push some medical supplies out of his way for room. The pod was a mess, supplies were everywhere as well as shelves had come unhinged and were hanging down on the walls. The dim lights weren't conducive to examining, but he would have to make sure as Sherlock's arm definitely looked mangled. 

"Alright, now tell me when it hurts," John instructed as the other man rolled his eyes. "Remind me, which one of us is a doctor here?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned, but let him go in peace. Probing the area, inching down to his forearm from about mid upper arm, he could see his partner's face becoming more tense and a thin sheen of sweat form in his upper lip. 

"Tell me when it hurts," he reiterated, now coming in contact with his forearm and staying on his radial side. A sharp intake of breath was the only indication that something was wrong a quarter of the way down. "I'm guess that's it?" No answer. "Right then," he glanced around until his eyes lit up a bit and he picked the discarded sling out of a scattered box, "I'll just slip this over your head and then your arm in. It may hurt, but don't move." 

Sliding the arm in, Sherlock made little noise, but the look on his face was all John needed to know. He set himself busy with clean the gash on his friend's face that was still trickling blood every so often and then tended to his own minor wounds. Not that any of the medical stuff mattered as they were going to starve to death, but it did pass the time and make things a little easier. The silence that would soon encase them both was something John was not yet ready to face. What was he supposed to say? There were a million things running through his mind, but none of them made sense and the ones that did..well let's just say they weren't entirely appropriate. Screaming wouldn't help them, I'd only irritate his concussion, and neither would violence. He looked to the only window that somehow had kept them alive by not shattering and almost wished it had, drowning was excruciating, but starvation wasn't something he was looking forward too either. 

The wounds all dressed and disinfected, he sighed, "You're absolutely sure there is no way out of this? We're going to die. No chance of survival." Better to get it over with, rip of the bandaid so to say. 

To answer came to him for some time. It seemed the man was again wrapped up in his own thoughts, who knows where, ignoring any outside intrusions. He passed the time by counting scattered boxes, not the best use, but there wasn't much else to be done. When an answer was finally rewarded to him, his eyes were starting to drift to a close. 

"The pod is set to send off an emergency signal if it happens to be ejected, but there's no other way for them to locate us." To an outsider he would seem utterly unfeeling and uncaring that they were going to die, but John could see the slight tremor in his fingers that told him otherwise. 

"Fantastic," he muttered more to himself, feeling anger swell in his chest. It wasn't Sherlock's fault, but understanding didn't help him..or the wall that he decided to slam with his hand. It was a calculated hit, just with his palm, but the shock of his actions sent him to near tears. 

"I hope you know how sorry I am, John. This was never my intention," he sighed himself and gave a tiny shake of his head. 

With a flick of his hand, he attempted to shut him up; it wasn't his fault. He might've said as much, but the man's hand came down to rest on top of his own in his lap. Sherlock's hand was warm despite the temperature dropping every passing minute in the pod. He glanced down, unsure of how to response and confused. Confusion was at the top of his list. Why? The answer seemed plainly obvious, he was trying to comfort him, but they weren't together in a relationship. Despite the assumptions of almost everyone anywhere they went, nothing had happened between them. John Watson was straight dammit, but before he could question him, Sherlock removed his hand with and cleared his throat. 

"Well, John Watson, considering we're going perish down here, either from starvation or freezing to death, I guess that I ought..to...say.." Sherlock started to fumble, but Sherlock never fumbled. Following his wide eyes, they were gazing intently at the window. 

"Sherlock?" Still nothing but confusion. 

"The glass." Of course, no enlightenment, just a simple statement that he was expected to be all-knowing about. 

"Excuse me?" 

"The glass, John, the glass." Yes, because obviously repeating the same information was going to help him. Instead of asking again, he watched him scramble to his feet and begin inspecting the window with his one good arm. A small machine lay in its side and he began removing the wires and attaching them to the sides of the window. 

"Bloody hell, what are you doing?" John growled, fed up. 

Sherlock moved his hands in a bizarre manner up and down. "The window, it's set up to come off if there's enough initial pressure. If I can set this machine up right, it'll set off a pressure bomb and we can get out."

He thought over the plan, it made sense. "You're brilliant! I could-" Nope, nope, he definitely was not going to finish that sentence, especially with the evening they were having. A raised eyebrow was all he received. 

John mostly just supervised as Sherlock did most of the work..well, all really. This area wasn't his specialty and he'd probably just get in the way anyways. It took a while to set it up and during it all, John considered their option. 

"Sherlock," he started, but received no acknowledgement, "we have a problem." 

He could almost feel the condescending before being spoken to. "I do know what you're about to say. I've already thought about it." 

"And that is?" 

He stopped messing with the window and faced him. "You're about to mention the fact that when the water rushed in, we won't be able to make it to the top because we won't be able to hold our breaths, but what you haven't thought of is the fact that we are surrounded by medical supplies, one of which is a breath administer. Gauged correctly, it will deliver a timed breath of air for one and you will bring both of us up to the surface considering this arm makes me useless." 

"No," John shook his head quickly, "I know what could happen if I don't get us up quick enough. I won't have it on my conscience." 

"Then we will both die."

A broken voice was all that was left of him, nothing would be the same if something wasn't waiting for them on the outside or if they didn't breach the surface quickly enough. It would be difficult for just one, but he would be hauling an unconscious, fully grown man. "I can't.." The device was set up and now rigged to go off at the push of a button. 

"You have to, John. Now, take this," he pressed the machine to deliver one breath closer to his face, "and hold on tight once you have the breath."

"Sherlock, you're my best friend." Tears pricked his eyes and he tried to blink them away. 

He thought he wasn't going to get a response, just a go signal, but he was proven wrong. "You're more than that to me, John. Now let me prove it." There was nothing left to say for he pushed the pressure bomb to go off and pressed the button for the air to flood into John's lungs. 

The water was dark and cold as it barged into their pod, it filled every corner and threw both of them back against the walls. If he hadn't been warned, he never would've been able to hold his last breath. 

As the water slowed to its usually current, he was able to open his eyes and see an unconscious Sherlock floating, mouth wide. If they had been on dry land, you might've seen tears in both their eyes. Grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket, John pulled with all his might and began swimming. 

The cold water threatened to freeze his limbs and his last breath was burning his lungs. Air. He needed air. As did his friend. If they didn't breech the surface soon, all would be lost, but it was so close. The extra weight made it harder to swim and his legs pumped tirelessly, he had to keep going. Light from the sun was visible and streaking through the blue water, beckoning him closer. 

Gasping, he found air and attempted to pull Sherlock's head up out of the water, but he was still unconscious. Sounds of a helicopter came to his notice and it was hovering Above their heads. "Help!" His throat felt raw as he waved his only free arm. 

The helicopter must've seen them because it started to dip down to just a few feet above them. 

"Dear me, brother mine," came a familiar voice, "what have you gotten yourself into now?" 

John saw no time for small talk and set to getting his friend in the helicopter with Mycroft and a few other men, and then he was hauled into safety. 

The edges of his vision were going dark as the men quickly secured them and began taking off again. "He..he needs air," John gasped out. 

"Yes, doctor. I know what hypoxia is." Mycroft may have been mocking him. 

John turned his head, he was still on the floor of the helicopter, and caught just a glimpse of his friend. Sherlock's lips were blue and his face white as a sheet. The men were removing his soaking clothing and attempting to get him breathing again. It'd been too long, there would damage, maybe irreversible. His medical knowledge ran through his head, jumbling all of his thoughts, and he was unable to comprehend. 

"Bloody hell! Someone tell me we have an AED machine on here!" It was Mycroft. The panic in his voice was too much to handle, John knew what had happened, and then he lost consciousness.


	2. In the Light

It'd been five days already and still John Watson sat in the same uncomfortable seat, in the same white room, hoping for a miracle. Once they had been pulled from the water, the helicopter took them to the hospital and Sherlock was rushed to the Intensive Care Unit. From there the staff put him in a ventilator that was still breathing for him and still in a coma, along with a brace on his wrist. Sherlock's face was slack and almost as white as the sheets pulled up to his chest, and he needed a good shave as stubble covered his cheeks. It didn't look good, John knew all of the medical lingo like a first language, he knew that Sherlock would probably have brain damage and that if he didn't wake up soon, he might never. Tears pricked his eyes again, it seemed to happen multiple times a day, and he rubbed his hands over his face. 

A nurse who he'd become quite familiar with, Andrea, came into the room and smiled a little bit. "Good evening, Dr. Watson. How're we doing today?"

John shrugged, she was just being nice, he'd only left his chair twice over the day. "Same." 

Andrea checked Sherlock's vitals and the ventilator. She made an approving noise and he popped his head up. "Nothing much, but there's been a few spikes in his brain waves since this morning," she shrugged, "maybe nothing, but hopefully this is a good sign." Andrea left without another word. 

John scooted closer to the edge of the bed and laid his head down on the side on his arms. "Come on you git, wake up," he whispered, "don't leave things left unsaid." Those words he had said down in that pod, he didn't know what to think. It was possible he'd only said it because he thought they weren't going to make it. What if he did mean it though? John needed answers, and he needed Sherlock. The apartment was dark and lonely without him, and because of that he'd only gone there once. 

When they had first come back he'd still been soaked through, not letting them tend to him and instead his friend, but Lestrade had come and made him go get some clothes. He'd barely made it through the door when he'd collapsed on the floor in tears. Mrs. Hudson found him a few hours later and somehow already knew what was going on and what had happened. 

****"Come on, dear, it's going to be just alright," Mrs. Hudson muttered and helped John off the floor. She made him shower and stayed in the living room until he came out. 

John felt nothing, he was numb of any emotion as the water poured down his body and when he finally came out, even the cold didn't affect him. 

Mrs. Hudson stood up when he came out and put a hand on his back. "You can go to the hospital in the morning, but you're going to sleep now." She led him down the hall instead of up the stairs to his room, and kept going until they reached the door of Sherlock's room and John stepped back. "Now, now, I'm sure he won't mind just this once." She turned the handle and led him into the extremely tidy room. "I'll be downstairs if you need me, dear, just holler," she told him and then left. 

John stared at the perfectly made bed for what seemed like eternity. He'd know. Sherlock would know that he had slept in his bed..and then he'd have to answer to that, but after a few minutes he was too tired to care. 

Pulling back the dark covers and crawling in, John inhaled the scent of burnt sugar and soap. It was easy to fall asleep then.****

"I know I keep asking you this," John pleaded, "but give me one more...one more miracle, Sherlock." Nothing happened, not even a twitch. 

\---

Sherlock spent two more days without any change and his chances for waking were getting slimmer by the day. John was going on a thirty six hour streak without sleep and he was ready to give up. Seven days in a coma...the odds were sorely against him and it seemed he was growing paler every hour. Even if he did wake up there's no telling what condition he would be in, brain damage to left so much up in the air until they woke up. Sherlock could have memory loss, speech problems, walking issues..anything, and John knew he wouldn't be able to handle not having his brain. It was his one thing, his only thing sometimes, and what would he be without it? He'd be insufferable, that's what. 

"I'll help you," John blurted suddenly. "Just wake up and whatever comes with it we can figure it out. Just..wake up."

It's was like some silly movie when the beeps started and he jolted up from his seat. John pressed the call button with a rapid fire until a doctor came in and scanned the monitors. 

"Mr. Holmes' numbers indicat-"

John cut him off, "I'm a doctor, I know what it means. Get the damn tube out of his throat!" 

The doctor ignored him and called a nurse in. John stood next to the bed and could see Sherlock fighting to open his eyes.

The doctor cleared his throat, "Mr. Holmes, you're in the hospital and we need you to open your eyes. There's a tube in your throat, but we're going to take it out really soon." 

His eyes opened and it was the most relieving sight John had ever seen; he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Sherlock's eyes darted around the room quickly, he looked slightly afraid, as the doctor checked his pupillary response. After, they checked the ventilator again and then set to removing it. It was pretty much just pulling it out of his throat and him gagging quite a bit, but then he left to 'give them a minute.'

"You have no idea how relieved I am to see you awake," John confessed the moment the other man was gone. He was sitting back in his chair just watching Sherlock. His face was still white, his lips chapped, with dark circles draped heavily under his eyes, and his eyes were barely even open half way. The hospital gown made him look so small. 

Sherlock took a labored breath, "Jo...hn." His shaky fingers raised slightly, but he wasn't able to lift them any more. John hesitated, but ended up wrapping his hand around his friend's freezing cold wrist. 

"Mycroft found us, the pod sent out a signal when it was ejected," he explained. Now that he wake awake, John wasn't sure what to say to him. 

Another hard breath, "You..okay?" His voice was hoarse. 

John let out a humorless chuckle. "You twat, I'm supposed to ask you that." Sherlock just looked at him. "I'm alright, thanks to you." His friend was too tired to speak and he could see his eyes falling. John reached over and brushed Sherlock's curls from his forehead, "Go to sleep now, just make sure to wake up."


End file.
